ŞARKI SÖZÜ
They are the root of the country. The roots
so firm and tranquil, when will the spirits be
welcomed, listen the music is heard again.
When there are lofty high roof tops carved
walls and yielding crops
When the palace is wild for lusting. When
the forest if wild for hunting. Existance
of anyone thing has never been but the
prelude to ruin
Wars and temper tantrums are the make-
shifts of ignorance
Regrets illuminate to late. Depth beyond sin
is fathomed
Wandering through the devils field sowing
his seed
